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10 May 2009 / April

Cat

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The chapel is empty and quiet.  The walls creak.

She slips in the open door.  Whether she is allowed to be there is irrelevant; she is looking for a place to nap, a place sheltered from powerful winds and sporadic rain showers and people, a place empty and quiet, and she has found the chapel.  And the door was open.

There are wooden birds in the air.  There is a piano, covered and muted, pushed into a corner.  There are warm rectangular pools of sunshine filtered through geometric windows.

She pads down the stairs, curls up in the center of a rectangle, falls asleep.

Outside, the skies change.  Clouds turn to wisps and vanish and return, the sun sinks.  The rectangle creeps across the floor.

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